


On the Same Page

by mommymuffin



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Fluff, Language Barrier, M/M, Short & Sweet, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:14:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26367766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mommymuffin/pseuds/mommymuffin
Summary: 5+1 fic: five times Hanzo didn't understand Jesse's slang and one time he did.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 14
Kudos: 275





	On the Same Page

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty much just a slow descent into tooth-rotting fluff. I've been having a really hard time lately and wanted to work on something light, because if I didn't I wouldn't be writing anything at all. A while back I had the idea of a 5+1 story about Hanzo always being completely confused by Jesse's southern turns of phrase (I, myself, am southern, so I got this a lot when I used to travel and it never ceased to amuse me). So I slowly eked it out one little section at a time. I even started trying to write one of the parts in a more serious tone, but again, I'm not really up for that sort of thing mentally. So. Here's what I did instead. 
> 
> I wanted this to be pretty strictly between Hanzo and Jesse, so there are minor interactions with other characters, but nothing of any substance. It's mainly Genji, if a third person is actually conversing with one or both of them.
> 
> Also, I could have called this 'Lost in Translation,' but I didn't. I used another turn of phrase for the title. So there.

_0) on the same page_

  1. to be of the same school of thought as another person.
  2. multiple people having the same understanding; having the same information or knowledge.
  3. two or more people in agreement about what they are trying to achieve.



_1) hold your horses_

  1. be patient.
  2. slow down.
  3. stop. 



It had been thirty-three days since Hanzo had joined Overwatch. It was a rough time for him, adjusting to life with this team of heroes, to life with his brother in it again. The members of Overwatch had been welcoming, almost overwhelmingly so. Hanzo did not feel that he deserved such kindness and so he was more often than not unwilling to accept it. But they persisted in their friendliness and offers of inclusion and Hanzo found he could not avoid them forever. He wound up in the kitchen washing dishes alongside the giant, Reinhardt, or sharing a pot of tea with the climatologist, Mei-Ling. He was roped into video game battles with Hana the gamer and Lucio the musician. The pilot, Lena, would engage him in conversation every time she so much as laid eyes on him. Dr. Ziegler would ask how he was sleeping, if he was adjusting well. Genji and his omnic master, Zenyatta, invited him to their meditation sessions, and he even took them up on it sometimes.

And then there was the cowboy. 

McCree had been perfectly neutral upon meeting Hanzo for the first time, something Hanzo recognized immediately for the falsity it was. A mask of politeness that he had put on, likely for Genji's benefit and not Hanzo's. McCree, Hanzo had noticed, was to all others friendly, boisterous, and helpful. Quick with a joke or a kind word. But with Hanzo, he was reserved. Always polite, but always with that hidden edge to him. McCree may have been affable on the outside, but inside he was cunning and quick. Hanzo could sense it in the way McCree would watch him from the corner of his eye every time their paths would cross. It made him wary around the gunman, uncertain of when his true feelings would finally show themselves. Hanzo was trying his hardest to relax into his new surroundings as his brother had requested of him ( _make it your home as it is mine,_ anija), but that was nearly impossible to do while waiting for McCree to finally strike.

It was their first private interaction that changed things.

Hanzo was perched high on a short catwalk on the side of the comm tower designed for maintenance access. It was isolated and Hanzo liked it for this reason. It also afforded a birdseye view of the ocean below. It was peaceful. Like being beneath the sakura trees at home. Especially now as the sun set and washed the landscape in gold.

Hanzo heard the door to the tower access open and close. He was surprised someone else would come up here. He wondered if they would approach him. They did, a jingling of spurs signaling who it was before they spoke. Hanzo was instantly on alert.

"Didn't think anyone else knew about this spot," McCree said, casual. He leaned his arms against the railing, but Hanzo did not turn his head to look at him. The other man was close, the catwalk not much longer than the breadth of their shoulders combined. 

"It is not so hard to find."

"Sure. But not many people go lookin' I suppose. Shoulda figured you'd find it though."

That did cause Hanzo to look at him, brow pinched. "Why is that?"

McCree placed an unlit cigarillo between his lips and spoke around it. "What with you bein' a Shimada and all. Genji's always been a climber too. Don't know what it is about you ninja types that makes ya always gotta be up high."

Hanzo tried not to tense at the mention of his brother from McCree's mouth, but he failed miserably. Still, he tried to play it off. "We prefer the vantage point."

"Right. Mind if I smoke?" He was already bringing the lighter up.

Hanzo watched as McCree lit the stick and breathed life into it. The end blazed orange before calming to a warm red.

"What about cowboys? Do they also prefer heights?" Hanzo found himself asking. He didn't know why he was prolonging this interaction. He should just leave. But maybe he wanted to finally confront the man who had been watching his every move for a month.

McCree smirked, eyes on the horizon. "Naw. Just needed a place where Angie wouldn't catch me smoking when I was a kid. Became a habit, every base I went to. And then, well, you can't beat the view." He gestured to the sunset. "Maybe that's the real reason I come up here. Cowboys and sunsets and all, y'know."

Hanzo raised a brow. "No, I do not know. What do sunsets have to do with cowboys?"

McCree turned a shocked look on Hanzo. "What do you mean 'you don't know?' Cowboys riding off into the sunset? Ain't you ever seen an old Western?"

Hanzo frowned. "A western what?"

McCree actually pulled back from the railing to turn his body and look at Hanzo properly. He put his hands on his hips while his cigarillo dangled from his lips. It was the first glimpse of McCree's dramatics that Hanzo would ever get, but he wouldn't know that this was normal for the cowboy for a while yet.

"A western what, he says," McCree mutters, then louder, "A Western is a type of _movie_. You ain't ever heard of 'em before?"

"A cowboy film, you mean."

"Yeah, a Western."

"I can't say I have ever seen one."

"Well, that's a cryin' shame. They're classics, just like Japan's samurai flicks. One's even based off _The Seven Samurai_ , you know that?"

Both of Hanzo's eyebrows rose this time. "I did not."

McCree eyed him for a long moment. "Well, we can fix that pretty easily. You and I are gonna have to sit down and watch _The Magnificent Seven_ movies." A pause while McCree took a drag. "The original's the first film I ever watched with your brother, actually."

Hanzo's heart lodged in his throat. "Oh."

"I know you probably don't want to hear this, but back then Genji was...well. Madder than a cut snake, might be the right way to phrase it."

Hanzo had never heard that turn of phrase before, but he understood it well enough. He knew what Genji would have been like, at least.

McCree goes on, "When he first got here anyway. I eventually got him talkin' without threatin' me with a shuriken every time I so much as looked at him. I asked 'im one day when he was bein' kinda surly again who put a bee in his bonnet and he looked at me real funny and said, "what is a bonnet?" That led to me tryin' ta explain American history to 'im and I finally said, "let's just watch a Western, that'll teach ya everything ya need to know." So I picked _Magnificent Seven_ after I asked if he'd seen _Seven Samurai_ before. Seemed fitting."

Hanzo's knuckles had gone white where he gripped the railing. The casual way that this, this _caricature_ of a person so carelessly talked about his brother made him want to jump from the catwalk and throw the other man over it in equal measures. Hanzo was well aware that McCree had been Genji's friend before the fall of Overwatch, that McCree had been the brother to Genji that Hanzo never could be. But he had not wanted to be faced with it like this. _Ever_.

McCree cut a cool gaze over at him from the corner of his eye, watching for Hanzo's reaction. This was a test, Hanzo realized abruptly. The cowboy wanted to see what Hanzo would do. It was probably the entire reason McCree had come out onto the catwalk in the first place instead of turning around and leaving.

Hanzo didn't know what the correct reaction here was, but he knew it wasn't throwing one or both of them over the side of the cliff. 

He swallowed thickly, the lump of emotion in his throat threatening to overwhelm him. He swallowed his pride next, and though that was the less physical task it was the harder task by leagues.

Very carefully, Hanzo thought about his words. Finally, he settled on: "Thank you."

McCree tilted his head to get a better look at Hanzo's face. "Fer what?"

"For being there when I...when I could not. And for telling me this. I cannot—If I am to ever make amends and repair what was broken, I cannot shy away from these sorts of things. Talking about Genji as he was is...difficult." _Painful_ , he didn't say. "But it is necessary, I feel. Like removing a bullet from a wound so it can heal."

McCree was silent a long time, just observing Hanzo. Watching, always watching. Hanzo could not be sure what the gunman saw in that moment.

Eventually, McCree turned back to the sunset, nearly over now, the landscape cast in dark purples and splashes of pink. "You're welcome," he said simply.

A quiet moment passed between them, not entirely comfortable, but not insufferable either. 

Then McCree said, "We'll watch a different one, you 'n' me. For your first Western. I'm thinkin' _The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly_."

A slight smirk crept its way across Hanzo's mouth. "It sounds interesting."

"I think you'll like it," McCree said with the kind of cocky confidence only an American cowboy could ever possess.

Another beat of silence passed and then Hanzo took an uncertain step backward. 

"I will leave you to your sunset then."

McCree straightened up from his lean. "Hey now, hold your horses. You don't gotta go anywhere."

Hanzo's brow furrowed. The rest of McCree's statement was lost after the confusing phrase. "My—my what? I don't have any horses."

McCree's expression broke into a grin. "'Course you don't. It's an expression. It just means 'wait a minute.'"

Hanzo scowled. He did not like being unable to follow someone's meaning when by all accounts he spoke the language. "Then why do you not just say so? Do you always talk this way? Snakes and bees and horses? Is it an animal thing?"

McCree chuckled. Hanzo couldn't help noticing the sound was a pleasant one. 

"Naw," McCree said, affecting a lean again, "it's not an animal thing. It's a southern thing. 'S just how we talk where I'm from. Lots of expressions and turns of phrase."

Hanzo crossed his arms. "They are confusing and unnecessary."

McCree stared a moment. "You don't know what a bonnet is either, do you?"

They stared at one another for a long moment, then Hanzo reluctantly admitted, "No. I have no idea what that is or what it has to do with bees."

The cowboy grinned and clapped a hand against Hanzo's shoulder. The move was unexpected, a level of trust that Hanzo wasn't aware they had achieved in the last two minutes. Hanzo tensed, but managed not to throw the other man to the ground out of pure instinct. 

"Well, you're about to find out. East meets West, pardner."

Hanzo eyed the hand still on his shoulder. "How ominous."

McCree chuckled. The sound was still pleasant. His hand returned to his side. 

"Ominous might just be the right word for it." He took one final drag on his cigarillo, then snuffed the end out on his metallic hand. 

Hanzo let out a quiet breath and watched the final moments of sunset beside the cowboy in silence.

_2) looker_

  1. one who is pleasant to look at. 
  2. an attractive person.
  3. one who possesses beauty and is aesthetically pleasing. Often used to describe a person.



Hanzo scanned the street below again for any signs of their mark. Nothing yet. Behind him the cowboy lazed some feet away, reclined against the ledge of the building they perched atop. He made his boredom clear, but Hanzo was not going to entertain him while they were working. 

It had been three months since Hanzo had joined Overwatch. This was his third field mission, but only his first with McCree. Despite this he knew the cowboy well enough by now to know that McCree was a man of action and did not do well with waiting. He was not a still man by nature, Hanzo knew. When they sat to watch McCree's Westerns together, the man always had something to occupy his hands—a drink or bowl of popcorn or the remote—or if he didn't he drummed his fingers against his knee.

Their first movie night had gone surprisingly well. Or maybe not so surprising, since after their conversation on the catwalk McCree had extended that same genial warmth and friendliness to Hanzo that he did to the rest of the team. It seemed Hanzo had passed his test and earned a spot on McCree's good side. It had resulted in five movie nights all told, a few late night drinking sessions when one of them was restless and came across the other in similar straits, a handful of training sessions which quickly devolved into amicable competitions of aim, and twice that many chance encounters on the catwalk. It was enough to make Hanzo comfortable enough around the gunslinger (a term Hanzo had learned from the man himself) to have him at his back in their current situation, which was saying quite a lot for the former yakuza, really. 

Now, McCree shuffled around under his serape for a moment and pulled out his lighter and a cigarillo. Another habit like McCree's fidgeting that Hanzo had become accustomed to. 

Hanzo waited until the cigarillo was between McCree's lips and the lighter was raised to say: "Do not light that."

McCree glanced up at him, hat tipped back on his head so he could see. 

"I do not want the smoke drawing attention," Hanzo said. 

McCree tsked. "Ain't no one around to see it. This is a bust."

"We do not know that yet."

McCree sighed and tucked the items away. "S'pose yer right."

He sighed again, gusty and for show and tucked his arms behind his head. He looked up at Hanzo again, studying his profile. Slowly, he drawled, "'S not like I've never noticed before, but you're a real looker, you know that?"

Hanzo glanced at him from the corner of his eye. What an obvious thing to point out. He frowned faintly, but answered, "Yes."

McCree's eyebrows popped up. "Yeah?" His voice was delighted. Hanzo wasn't sure why.

"Yes," Hanzo repeated and turned his head to look at him properly. "That is my job after all."

McCree looked, possibly, devious. "Is it now?"

Hanzo's frown deepened. "Yes. I am the lookout. As my backup, you know this."

McCree's expression broke apart into one of shock. Then he chuckled and shook his head.

"Are you all right?" Hanzo asked, mildly concerned. The cowboy was being strange even for him.

"Yeah, fine. Just...tired. Think I'll rest my eyes. Wake me if anything happens." McCree's face disappeared under his hat as he slumped down.

Hanzo stared at him a moment longer, unable to parse what had just happened. He dismissed it as a quirk of the cowboy's and turned back to the street. Just in time too. A door was opening across from them. 

Hanzo smirked and kicked McCree's foot.

They had work to do.

Later, when Hanzo and McCree were back on base after a successful mission, Hanzo found their brief conversation on the rooftop bothering him. He had the distinct feeling that he was missing something.

Hanzo wasn't raised to avoid conflict, so he sought the cowboy out later that evening. He found him on the catwalk, reclined against the railing and already halfway through a cigarillo. The sun had long since set, their mission bringing them back to the base late.

Hanzo strode up to him and crossed his arms. 

McCree glanced over and raised an eyebrow. "Something on yer mind there, Shimada?"

Hanzo stared down his nose at him for a long beat. The scent of cloves was strong in the air, McCree's vice a pleasantly fragrant one at least. The smell was honestly rather soothing after a long and tiring mission. It relaxed Hanzo somehow, or maybe it was just the familiar sight of McCree with one that put something at ease in the back of his mind. 

Hanzo waited another beat, then replied, "Yes," and held his hand out.

McCree eyed it for a few seconds then came to understand what Hanzo wanted. He passed over the cigarillo without a fuss, but still gave Hanzo a look like he was being strange. Hanzo supposed he was. He had never asked to share a cigarillo with McCree before. He technically didn't ask now.

Hanzo made McCree wait while he took a puff on the cigarillo. The taste filled his mouth, sweet and heady and everything Hanzo wanted it from it. It had been a while since Hanzo had smoked anything, but he had once indulged in it back in his youth. He closed his eyes and savored it before tilting his head back and releasing a billowing cloud out into the night. 

He lowered his head and opened his eyes to find McCree staring at him. They locked eyes and didn't say anything for a few short seconds. Then McCree averted his eyes and, shaking his head, said, "You know you can ask for a smoke whenever you want."

"Hn." Hanzo knew. He took one more drag and then passed the cigarillo back to McCree.

McCree took it and puffed on it, looking back at Hanzo and waiting, but not pressing.

Hanzo liked that about McCree. As chatty as the cowboy was, he also understood that silence wasn't always something that needed to be filled. 

"The comment you made on the rooftop today," Hanzo finally said, eyes never leaving McCree's. "Explain it to me."

Both of McCree's eyebrows jumped. 

"I thought the word was literal, but it was another one of your American expressions, wasn't it?"

McCree chuckled and broke their gaze. "Cottoned on to that, did you?"

Hanzo just arched one brow and said very slowly, "You're doing it again."

"Cottoned on means—"

"I understand what that means. 'I caught on to it.' Yes. Stop avoiding my question."

McCree chuckled again. "Fine, fine. I called you a 'real looker,' yeah?"

"Yes."

"Well. A looker is someone who is very attractive. Which. You are. In case you hadn't looked in a mirror recently…"

Hanzo's mouth dropped open of its own accord. "You...you were complimenting my looks...in the middle of a mission?"

McCree glanced at him again, trying too hard to look innocent and just making himself look all the more guilty. "Uh. Yeah…"

Hanzo squinted at him. "That did not seem like an inappropriate time to do so?"

"Well. When you put it that way…"

"You are ridiculous," Hanzo stated simply. "I knew that, but that is ridiculous even for a man who dresses as a cowboy."

"Hey now, I do not _dress_ as a cowboy, I _am_ a cowboy."

"My point still stands." 

"That's harsh, Shimada. 'Specially coming from somebody who dresses like they're out of the Edo period."

Hanzo did not rise to the bait. Instead he smirked and said, "I thought you did not mind the way I looked."

"Aw, geez, why'd I have to go and open my big mouth?" McCree tilted his hat down to hide his face. Ashes fell from the end of the cigarillo, burning forgotten in his right hand.

"I imagine it was because you were stunned by my beauty."

Hanzo says this with a completely straight face. McCree jerks up to look at him. The cigarillo falls from his hand and disappears into the rocks below.

Then Hanzo's lip twitches and he can't hold it back anymore. He laughs.

McCree's expression twitches to annoyance. "All right, all right. You had your revenge. Poking fun at me. Not my fault I have _eyes_ , you know."

"No," Hanzo said, "it is not. Nor is it your fault you have a mouth. However, it is entirely your fault in regards to what comes out of it."

That very mouth pinched into a frustrated moue. "Rude. That's what you are, Shimada. Rude."

"Please, my most ardent admirer should call me by my first name."

McCree covered his face with a hand. "God dammit, I am never gonna live this down, am I?"

"No," Hanzo informed him with glee.

McCree threw up his hands. "I give up." He rustled around for a moment and produced another cigarillo, lighting it and exhaling the first plume of smoke in a sigh. "God damn…"

Hanzo allowed himself another smirk and then leaned his elbows against the railing, perhaps the most relaxed he had ever been in front of the cowboy. 

He had not been expecting McCree's answer. He supposed he should have guessed at it, someone's "looks" being an English word for referring to a person's physical attractiveness, and "looker" only being a step off of that. But it had honestly not occurred to him that the cowboy would notice such a thing. McCree was complimentary by nature, but he was only flirtatious when it suited him, when it was to accomplish some goal. Hanzo had once watched McCree sweet-talk Lena into running an errand for him, and Lena didn't even like men that way. It made Hanzo wonder about the exact nature of the cowboy's comment. It seemed a genuine compliment, and not some ploy, seeing as it was only the one comment and there was no follow-up request. Hanzo was not unaware of his attractiveness. He had always received attention for it even after he was no longer a desirable yakuza lord. Leave it to McCree to comment on it at the most inappropriate of times though. Such a ridiculous man.

Now, McCree side-eyed him and then after a reluctant moment offered up the cigarillo.

Hanzo took it, took a drag. He passed it back and gazing out at the night sky said, "You are, as they say, 'not so bad yourself'."

Hanzo saw the pause in McCree's movements from the corner of his eye.

"Well. Thank ya kindly, Hanzo." He gestured to Hanzo. "See, now that's how you take a compliment."

Hanzo smirked. "I will make a note of it, if you will make a note of the proper time and place to pay your teammate a compliment."

McCree shook his head, something fond about it. "Yeah, yeah." He passed the cigarillo over again and they stayed out there until it was spent.

_3) out of the woods_

  1. out of danger or difficulty.
  2. past the worst part of a bad situation, in which things start to improve.
  3. secure; safe.



It was no secret that Jesse McCree and Hanzo Shimada were very different people. For example:

Jesse was a loud person, talkative and colorful. He laughed with ease and he drew a room's attention when he shared stories. He often clapped his hands or snapped his fingers or stomped his foot to emphasize his point. There was nothing subtle about him.

Hanzo was the opposite. He was quiet and reserved, a man of few words. A ninja and an assassin that preferred to observe from the shadows or from a distance and rarely drew attention to himself in a crowd. He rarely even smiled fully and he certainly never wore his emotions on his sleeve the way McCree did.

But for all that they were opposite in many ways, when it came to the important things they were actually very similar. While the details of their stories varied wildly, their backgrounds shared the same core and it made for two men who saw eye to eye more often than not. 

Still, they were bound to clash eventually.

It was during a mission in Ilios. Hanzo had run many ops with McCree by now. He found himself naturally keeping one eye out for that flash of red serape or one ear trained in the direction of Peacekeeper. He spent a lot of time in high places sniping people trying to flank the cowboy. It was second nature to him by now, just like it was second nature to check on him if he ever did lose sight or sound of the cowboy. 

"McCree. Report," Hanzo said on their private channel.

Silence.

Hanzo switched to the main channel. "Does anyone have eyes on McCree?"

His brother's voice came first, the cyborg running along rooftops and covering as many angles as he could while they moved the payload through streets. "I do not see him. In fact I have not seen him in several minutes."

That was concerning. So was the fact that the rest of the team reported back much the same. 

"Genji, stay with the payload. I am going ahead to look for him." 

Hanzo took to leaping across the rooftops, placing himself well ahead of where he had last placed McCree. The gunslinger had been scouting ahead on the ground while Hanzo had been covering their rear from the rooftops, both taking out any threats and reporting back to the team. It had been close to ten minutes now since Hanzo had heard either the familiar revolver or voice. 

Hanzo surveyed the area, peering down into alleys for any clue as to where their cowboy had gone and found none. 

He tried their private channel again. "McCree. Where are you? Respond."

Nothing.

"Dammit," Hanzo cursed and moved further ahead on their pre-planned path.

He finally found a sign that McCree had been through there: two felled Talon operatives. There was no indication that McCree had been hurt in the altercation, but there was also no indication about which direction he'd gone. With no other clue Hanzo pressed on down the route the payload would follow.

He remained silent, some creeping sense of tension gripping him in a way that signaled danger.

He identified exactly what the danger was when a black cloud flew out from between two buildings about 200 meters ahead of him.

Reaper.

Hanzo began to run, decades of training allowing his feet to find purchase on the rooftops just the same as if he were on flat ground. 

He tapped into the main channel of the comm. "Reaper sighted. He fled from a position 500 meters down our route. Still no response from Agent McCree. I'm going to Reaper's last location."

Genji's voice came down the line. "I am on my way, brother."

Winston's was next, "Agents Shimada, do not engage Reaper unless the two of you are together. He's too dangerous to fight alone."

"Roger that, Winston," Genji said.

"Understood," Hanzo said. 

The elder brother reached the spot he had seen Reaper emerge from only moments later. He scanned the street below and finally found a sign of McCree. But it was not a welcome sign. 

Blood splatter. Not much. But enough to indicate that McCree was hit by something. Perhaps just a graze, but a hit nonetheless.

Hanzo was seeing blue at the edges of his vision, the dragons rising to the surface.

He slammed a hand into his comm to switch to the private channel.

"McCree, answer me _right now_ , where the hell are you?"

There was a long moment of silence and Hanzo thought he might start screaming into the comm, stealth be damned. 

Then, a blurt of static and finally, _finally_ McCree's voice. 

"Hanzo."

"McCree, _where are you?_ "

"Calm down. I'm all right. Not outta the woods yet, but I'm okay."

Hanzo's eyes flitted across the landscape around him. There were no woods in Ilios. _What the hell was he talking about?_

"I can't find you," Hanzo said, something like desperation rising up his throat to choke him.

"Stay where you are. I'm laying low. Reaper left, but Moira's still around here somewhere."

"You are injured," Hanzo argued. 

"Just a scratch, darlin'. Just stay put, I'll be with you in just a minute."

"McCree—" 

The connection severed and Hanzo was alone on a rooftop again, trying to figure out what the hell McCree meant when he said he was in the woods. 

Genji appeared beside him. "Where is he?"

"I don't know. He came on over the comms. He said Reaper left, but Moira is nearby."

"That is not good," Genji said, summarizing it quite plainly. 

"He said he was in the woods, but there are no woods. What does that mean? Where is he?" Hanzo was near frantic now, head swiveling back and forth for any sign, any clue as to the cowboy's location.

His brother's hands landed on his shoulders. "Hanzo. Calm do—"

Hanzo rounded on him to snap in his face, "Why does everyone keep telling me to calm down?"

Genji removed his hands, holding them up in a show of surrender. "Because you are starting to _glow_."

Hanzo frowned, then glanced down at his left arm. Genji was right. His arm was alight with the dragon's energy, bright blue and crackling. 

Just then, Winston's voice came in their ears. "Reaper is attacking the payload. Have you found Agent McCree?"

Genji began to respond, but the sound of Peacekeeper firing interrupted him. 

Both Shimadas looked in the direction it came from—about 70 meters to their left. 

Hanzo didn't hesitate. He raised his bow, pulled back an arrow, and unleashed every ounce of helpless fury he felt in that moment.

" _Ryu ga wa teki wo kurau!_ "

He heard Genji shout his name, but Hanzo ignored him, taking off after his dragons.

Halfway to McCree's location, Reaper appeared beside Hanzo. 

"Was that really necessary?" the wraith growled then darted ahead, the incorporeal cloud much swifter than even Hanzo's feet.

Hanzo pushed himself to go even faster until he was panting with exertion by the time he reached the alley Reaper had disappeared into. He was just in time to see Reaper removing the limp form of one Moira O'Deorain from the alley and misting away again. 

Left behind was one stunned, but conscious Jesse McCree.

Hanzo slid down the side of the building and leapt onto the cobbled pavement. He was by Jesse's side in an instant. 

"You foolish cowboy! Why would you lie to me about your location? Where are you injured?" He grabbed the other man by the shoulders and looked him up and down. No injury was immediately apparent, but that damnable serape could hide many things. 

McCree blinked dazedly up at him, finally seeming to come back around to the present situation. "Wh...what hit me?"

"That would be my brother's dragons," Genji said, dropping down neatly beside them. "Do not worry, they would not harm a friend. You are only feeling a little...overwhelmed."

McCree blinked again. "Th' dragons? ...why?"

"I believe my brother overreacted just a bit," Genji supplied, visor making his face unreadable. Hanzo could imagine the smirk though.

He glared at the cyborg. "They are gone, are they not?"

"I never questioned your effectiveness, _anija_."

That made Hanzo flinch, a move not unnoticed by either man. Before Genji could open his mouth again, Jesse reached up a clumsy hand and patted Hanzo on the back of his hand where it still lay on his shoulder.

"All right, all right. That's enough of that."

Hanzo turned his glare back on McCree. That is when Hanzo noticed the gashes in McCree's right forearm. 

"This is where you were injured?" Hanzo took McCree's arm in his hands and rotated it to see the full extent of the damage. There were deep gouges in McCree's tanned skin, each trailing a jagged line of torn flesh. Blood pulsed sluggishly from the punctures.

McCree seemed to be pulling himself together and with much more lucidity he said, "Yeah. Just some scratches. Moira got her claws into me—literally—while I was distracted by Reaper."

Hanzo's glare returned tenfold. "Had you had back-up, perhaps this would not have happened."

"It's literally just some scratches, Han. I probably made it worse by jerking out of her grip. Couldn't help it though. Moira and her damn harpy claws. Appreciate your concern though."

Hanzo's anger flared and he practically threw Jesse's arm down. "I would not be so concerned, if you hadn't felt the need to mislead me from your location in the first place."

McCree frowned in confusion. "How's that?"

"The _woods_ , you said you weren't out of the woods yet. There are no woods!"

McCree blinked. Blinked again. Then the bastard had the _gall_ to _chuckle_.

"Darlin', 'out of the woods' means you're out of danger. So what I was sayin' was—"

"I do not care what it means! I care that you completely dropped out of communication with the rest of us. I care that you dismissed me when I asked you where you were. I care that you were injured and you wouldn't respond to assistance."

Jesse's face pinched, expression souring. "Look, me and Reaper got a lot of history. Moira, too. It's personal when they show up. I don't need to drag you, or anybody else, into it."

Genji tried to interject, but Hanzo spoke over him.

"I do not _care_. We are a _team_. You are not some lone cowboy on a mission of revenge."

"You been watchin' too many movies, Han."

"Because you have shown them to me. Was it in some effort to, to, I don't know, educate me on why you are such a stubborn, moronic ass!"

McCree stood then, that all too familiar set to his jaw that meant he wasn't going to budge on something. Hanzo had never seen it directed at himself before. He had seen it directed at Jack and Angela, even Fareeha or Genji on occasion, but never himself. 

"Listen. It ain't any of yer business. Now, butt out." McCree began walking away, but threw over his shoulder, "That means quit interferin' in case you didn't know."

With a scoff McCree faced forward again and there was a beat of absolute stillness before Hanzo raised his bow and pulled an arrow from his quiver.

"Hanzo, no!" Genji jumped to bat Hanzo's hands down. "You are overreacting again."

"No, I am not. If he wanted me to leave him for dead so badly, I am only correcting my mistake."

" _Anija_ ," Genji scolded and Hanzo finally stopped glaring daggers at McCree's back to look at his brother. "Let us return to the others. We are still in the middle of a mission, remember?"

Honestly? No. He did not remember that. He was too caught up in the cowboy's reckless solo act to remember much of anything.

Hanzo returned his arrow to its quiver. "Fine. Let us return."

The ride back to Gibraltar was an awkward one. Normally, Hanzo and Jesse would be sitting together. Sometimes they would talk idly, sometimes they would revel in their mission's success, sometimes they would doze lightly against one another. 

This time they sat on opposite ends of the Orca. The tension was near palpable. Winston had had a few words with each of them about their behavior on the mission. Lucio had patched McCree's arm up and subtly tried to boost his mood while he was at it. It hadn't worked. Genji had sat beside his brother without a word and allowed Hanzo to sulk, just not alone. 

When the carrier landed, nothing had changed and both men went their separate ways. 

It was Hanzo who went to McCree's door late into the night with a bottle of whiskey in hand.

McCree answered the door in a pair of pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. He wasn't wearing his boots or his hat. In six months of friendship with the man Hanzo had never seen him like this. He clearly hadn't been sleeping though regardless of the attire. His eyes were sharp and hot with something like anger still. Hanzo should have been surprised that Jesse answered the door, but then again no cowboy was the type to shy away from confrontation. Instead he crossed his arms and waited for Hanzo to say something. 

"May I come in?" Hanzo asked. "I brought whiskey."

McCree eyed the bottle with suspicion. "Why do you have that? Thought you didn't care much for whiskey."

"I have it because I know you like it," Hanzo said simply, then less simply: "I know a great many things about you, Jesse McCree. But I do not know a great many more."

McCree started up immediately. "Han—"

"You do not have to tell me any of them," Hanzo interrupted swiftly. "I only wish to repair our friendship tonight."

That softened the cowboy and he sighed and stepped back to let Hanzo in. 

"Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable or whatever."

It was not the first time Hanzo had been in McCree's room, but it was the first time he was invited to sit. He carefully chose a spot at the foot of the bed and, when McCree gestured for it, handed over the bottle.

McCree retrieved glasses and poured a couple of fingers for each of them. He sat beside Hanzo on the bed about a foot of space between them.

They drank in silence for a long few minutes. 

Then Hanzo said. "I apologize. For my behavior. I overreacted. I think I am rather overprotective of the friends I have found here. It is not a feeling I am used to, and I did not manage it well."

McCree studies his profile for a long minute. "Yeah, I'm sorry too. Shouldn't have run off like that, I know. Winston chewed me out for it too. Well. As much as Winston chews anybody out. More like a mild scolding."

Hanzo huffed. "Mine was much the same. Sometimes I think he is too soft to be our leader, but then I see him in the field and I know I am wrong."

"Winston's more 'n capable. Beats having a hardass like Jack in charge."

Hanzo snorted in agreement. "Yes. He was your commander for a long time, was he not?"

"No," McCree said. "I mean, he was technically everybody's commander, but he wasn't really mine. I was in Blackwatch, remember?"

"Right. The special operations team."

"That's right. _Real_ special." There was a bitterness in his voice that turned it hard. 

Hanzo turned to look at him. "Your commander was Gabriel Reyes. I remember his file. The Shimada-gumi liked to keep tabs on him."

"I'm sure they did."

"I know he was killed in Switzerland. I am sorry, McCree."

McCree slanted a piercing look at him. He was quiet so long that Hanzo grew unsettled.

"What? What is it?"

"Huh. Guess you wouldn't know, would you? Nobody ever told you...? No. Guess they wouldn't have. Probably figured I had. I always figured your brother woulda mentioned it."

"Mentioned _what?_ "

"Reyes ain't dead, Hanzo. He's Reaper."

A lot of things slotted into place for Hanzo then. 

"I see."

"Yeah," Jesse said quietly.

Hanzo did not ask for the story. It was not his business, as McCree had said, and now, as he understood it was less of a "personal matter" and more of an old wound that Jesse didn't want anyone pressing on, Hanzo could let it lie more easily. He sipped silently from his glass and searched for another topic. 

"What about the harpy woman, then?"

McCree chuckled. He got up and topped off their drinks. When he sat down, he said, "Moira O'Deorain is a witch. And I mean, I'm pretty sure she's an _actual_ witch."

It would be three more weeks before McCree would tell Hanzo about Gabriel Reyes. Hanzo would listen. And when dawn was approaching and McCree had told him everything, Hanzo would say, "Thank you, Jesse," and he would not leave the cowboy's side until they finally crept off to their respective beds after breakfast.

_4) waiting for the other shoe to drop_

  1. to await an event that is expected to happen, due to being causally linked to another event that has already been observed. 
  2. to wait for the next, seemingly unavoidable (and typically negative) thing to happen.
  3. to wait for the inevitable next step or the final conclusion.



Hanzo was going out of his mind. There was no mission to distract him from this feeling, no activity around base that could hold his attention. His brother tried to get him to meditate but Hanzo couldn't do that either. Even a full day of rigorous training couldn't dispel the unrest in his bones. He finally turned to drinking when he could stand it no longer.

McCree found him on their usual catwalk, well into his gourd of sake. The cowboy plunked down next to him and set a half-drunk bottle of whiskey in between them without a word.

"Ain't seen much of you today. You missed dinner."

Hanzo grunted.

"Genji mentioned you seemed kinda restless."

Another grunt.

"Ain't had a mission in a while. Do yer dragons get a lot of pent up energy after a while or somethin'?"

"The dragons are fine. It is not them who are restless." Hanzo finished the last of his sake and moved seamlessly to McCree's whiskey.

Jesse nodded, took a swig from the bottle when Hanzo passed it to him. Hanzo took it back and McCree didn't argue.

In fact McCree didn't say anything for a long, long time. He didn't light up a cigarillo either. Something in the back of Hanzo's swimming mind flagged that as being odd, but he was too preoccupied to bother with it right now. 

The half-bottle was drunk down to a quarter.

Hanzo started talking without being prompted. The words spilled too easily, loosened by alcohol. 

"It is just...I am...I am happy here. And I do not know what to do with that. It always feels like...like I am waiting for my time here to run out. I know that this happiness cannot last, simply because I do not deserve to have it. I am restless because of it...hype—" Hanzo frowned, plucked at the word that was a little too challenging for his unsober tongue, "hype...hyper...vigilant...Hypervigilant. At times. When I was alone for those ten years and this feeling came, I would just move on. It was as simple as that. But here...I have been here nearly eight months and I..."

Hanzo shook his head, took another gulp of whiskey. And another. 

Jesse borrowed the bottle and gave a slow nod. "Feels too good to be true," he supplied. "Here, I mean. Feels like you should leave before it all goes to hell." 

Hanzo nodded in return. 

"I get it. I'm the same way. When things are good, you can't enjoy it. In the back of your mind you're always thinkin' 'when am I gonna have to run this time?' Just waitin' for the other shoe to drop."

Hanzo squinted at him, morose thoughts completely derailed by another of the cowboy's confusing phrases. "The other...the other shoe? ...Is that some phrase that means I am always ready to leave? Like, I—I am poised..." that word came out a little slurred so Hanzo tried again. "... _poised_ to take a step, with one foot raised so, so when the shoe drops it is because I am walking or, or running, because I am leaving? Is that...is that it? Did I get it?"

McCree blinked several times, completely baffled. "Han. You are absolutely piss drunk."

Hanzo blinked once. Twice. "That is correct."

Jesse chuckled and Hanzo smiled, because Jesse's laugh made him happy and he was too sloshed to dampen his emotions right now. Besides, it was just Jesse. It was okay if it was with Jesse. 

"That's...kind of adorable really." Another chuckle from the cowboy. "No, that's not what it means."

Hanzo frowned. Not what what means? Had Hanzo asked a question. Oh, that's right he had. About...shoes or something. Hanzo was slowly beginning to realize that he was more gone than he'd thought he was.

"'Waiting for the other shoe to drop' means...you think something bad is going to happen, because how can it not? Life's proven to you that every time things are going well, it can't last. Inevitably, it'll all fall apart and things will go back to 'normal,' which in your mind means things are terrible, because that's just how life is for you. That's waiting for the other shoe to drop. 'S an awful pessimistic outlook on life."

"Hmm. So that is you and I."

"Seems like."

"Hm." A beat passed and Hanzo said, "In that case I was not so far off when I said I thought it meant 'ready to leave'. At least. In our cases."

"No. Not too far off at all."

There was something in the cowboy's voice, something that caught against Hanzo's mind and scraped. He wasn't sober enough to figure out what it was and for the first time that night he regretted getting quite so inebriated.

A long silence passed and then Jesse said, "Are you?"

Hanzo blinked owlishly, the question coming from nowhere to his drunken brain. "Am I what?"

"Ready," Jesse said, then added, "To leave."

Hanzo stared at him, trying to parse the underlying meaning of the question, for there most certainly was one. The cowboy was not being as nonchalant as he seemed.

It struck Hanzo then. What Jesse was really asking: _are you going to leave?_

An icy spear lodged itself in the pit of Hanzo's stomach at the thought. He did not want to leave Overwatch. He did not want to leave what he had found here: his brother, his team, and the only friend he'd ever had. Jesse did not want him to leave either, Hanzo realized. That was what was skimming just under the surface of McCree's casual tone. Worry. Apprehension, maybe.

Hanzo looked at Jesse and tried to sober up in that moment, at least a little. "No, Jesse. I am not going to leave."

Jesse stared for a long time, likely trying to gauge if Hanzo meant what he said. Hanzo did, but he had no way of convincing the gunslinger of this except with his words and a steady gaze.

Finally, Jesse nodded. "Yeah. Me neither. Not this time."

Hanzo was vaguely aware of the terms that Jesse had left Blackwatch under. He was aware that Jesse believed he'd abandoned them to save his own skin. Perhaps he did. But Hanzo had made mistakes too, huge ones, and if Jesse hadn't acted selfishly then, he might not be here today with Hanzo sharing cheap whiskey and deep conversations. He might have died in Switzerland, or even in the field sometime somewhere before the fall.

The thought made something tighten in Hanzo's throat and he took another swig of whiskey to drown it.

McCree looked over at him, at the frowny face he was making, and said, "Yeah, I think it's high time I cut you off."

He reached for the bottle and Hanzo jerked it away. "You are not the boss of me, cowboy."

"No, I ain't, but I am your friend and as your friend I'm telling you you're done."

"I do not want to be done. I want to drink until I can't anymore." That had, after all, been Hanzo's original goal.

"Yeah, and I don't want to have to explain to Angie why you have alcohol poisoning. Gimme the bottle, Han."

"No," Hanzo said.

Jesse tsked and reached across Hanzo's body to swipe for it. His reach was almost long enough to accomplish it, but Hanzo leaned back at the last second. He was too drunk not to topple over, and he took Jesse down with him.

"Shit," McCree cursed as he landed squarely on top of Hanzo's chest.

The liquid inside the whiskey bottle sloshed with the tinkling, musical quality of liquid hitting glass before settling when Hanzo set it on the ground.

"We are both done," Jesse emphasized. He moved one hand to prop himself up, but without giving it any consideration whatsoever Hanzo jabbed him in the elbow. McCree went down like a sack of bricks.

" _Jesus_. What the hell was that for?"

"Stay," Hanzo said and closed his eyes before he made the conscious effort to do so. "I do not wish to return to my room yet. So, stay."

"Like this?" Jesse asked. His face was squished against Hanzo's chest and between that and the exaggerated southern drawl it sounded more like _'lock zhis?'_

Hanzo hummed in agreement. "You do not want me to imbibe further? This is how you will accomplish it."

A pause and then that golden chuckle. This was the first time Hanzo had felt it as well as heard it. It made him unbelievably giddy, the low vibrations against his stomach. He grinned though no one bore witness, so he could deny it had ever happened if questioned.

Jesse rumbled, "Fine. You win."

Still with a grin on his face and now in his voice, Hanzo said, "That is right. I win."

Jesse chuckled again and something in Hanzo slipped away easily into the night. He broke into a fit of giggles the likes of which he hadn't experienced since he was a small child. They were uncontrollable and loud and absolutely the best kind.

They were contagious too, because Jesse was quick to follow him into this mad, giddy oblivion. They lay there, laughing for no reason at all, for minutes or an eternity, it didn't matter. By the time they stopped they had both rolled onto their sides, faces close and arms wrapped around each other.

As their laughter tapered off Jesse rested his forehead against Hanzo's. They fell silent, breaths intermingling in the small space between them. Hanzo looked into Jesse's brown eyes, sparkling with mirth and warmer than any whiskey could ever be.

No, Hanzo thought, he wasn't going anywhere. Not so long as he always had this waiting for him. And even if the "other shoe" did drop, Hanzo knew that whatever came, he would not have to face it alone.

Hanzo blinked slowly, sleepily. His eyes closed without his consent, but that was all right. His thoughts were dancing away from him in a dreamy swirl of alcohol and happiness. All he could picture were Jesse's gentle eyes and countless oceanic sunsets. All he knew was the warmth of the arms twined around him. And all he felt...

"Hey, Han?"

Hanzo hummed. He felt...

"Han, I think..."

He felt like he should be paying attention. "Mmhmm?"

"Hanzo, I..."

But all Hanzo really felt...was sleep pulling him sweetly into its folds.

When he woke the following day, he was snugly tucked into his own bed in his quarters. That was a little confusing, since he didn't remember going to bed and he absolutely didn't remember walking back in the first place. He sat up and did a quick survey. His head was pounding, no surprise there, but nothing a few painkillers and caffeine wouldn't fix. He was still in his clothes from the night before, though his shoes were off. That left Hanzo with one conclusion.

Jesse must have carried him.

Hanzo's face suffused with heat.

Mortified. He was. Absolutely. _Mortified_.

He only prayed that no one had witnessed it. It was bad enough he had to face Jesse after such an embarrassment.

Ah. Jesse.

Hanzo tried to remember the details of their conversation. He remembered quite clearly telling Jesse that he wouldn't leave. That had been very important at the time, though Hanzo couldn't quite recall why now. He knew there had been laughing, _lots_ of laughing, enough to make his stomach hurt. And he thought there had been something else there, right at the end. Something Jesse was saying maybe. But he couldn't remember now.

Hanzo sighed. Well. No point in delaying the inevitable. He might as well get up and go find him.

After a much needed shower and change of clothes Hanzo made his way to the communal kitchen/lounge. He needed coffee this morning and he hoped there was still some in the pot even though it was past ten.

He found Jesse exactly where he thought he'd be, sitting at the same table by the window he always sat at after a night of drinking, coffee in hand and gaze turned to the sky. He was the only one in the kitchen at the off hour. His head turned when Hanzo walked in. He smiled, but it was dimmed. That must only be his first cup of coffee.

"Mornin', sweetpea."

Hanzo only grunted.

"Coffee in the pot," Jesse offered and Hanzo shot toward it like one of his arrows let loose after an enemy.

After pouring himself a cup he joined Jesse at the table. The other man wasn't wearing his cowboy hat at the moment, still partially asleep like Hanzo himself. It was still strange to see McCree without the hat, but it was a sight becoming less and less uncommon the more time Hanzo spent with him.

The pair sat in silence for a few sips. Jesse kept looking out the window. If Hanzo didn't know better he would say that the cowboy was avoiding his gaze. But what reason would Jesse have for that?

Unless...

Unless Hanzo had said something he didn't remember last night.

Hanzo lowered his mug and chose his next words with care. "I fell asleep in the middle of a conversation, didn't I?"

Jesse looked at him then, cautious. "You did."

Hanzo blinked once. Slowly. "I wound up back in my room."

Jesse took another sip of coffee. "You did."

"I do not recall walking there."

Jesse's eyes flitted to the window. "You didn't."

"I see. As I thought." Hanzo sighed. "McCree, I apologize for inconveniencing you in this way. Thank you for taking care of me. I am deeply embarrassed by my actions last night."

"Aw, Han, you ain't got nothing to apologize for. That's what friends are for."

"No, please, accept my apology. I am a terrible friend to make you do that, and after falling asleep when you were in the middle of saying something. I am sorry, Jesse."

"'S all right. You, uh...you don't remember what I said then?"

Hanzo peered up at him. "No. I remember nothing after laughing like children. Just..." Warmth. Brown eyes. The smell of whiskey and cloves. Being the happiest he'd ever been in his adult life. "Drifting to sleep. Again, my apologies. What was it you said?"

Jesse leaned back in his chair and blew out a breath. "Oh, nothing important. Just drunk rambling, you know. You didn't miss nothing."

Hanzo smiled a little then. "Well, I am glad. I would not have wanted to miss anything important."

Jesse smiled back, but it was still...off. Dimmed again.

Right. Hanzo still wasn't sure if he had said something unfortunate or not.

"Did I wake up at all after I fell asleep?"

"Naw, you were out like a light. Didn't stir not one bit, not even when I took your shoes off." Jesse smirked. "You did snore a little though."

Hanzo covered his face with a hand. "Wonderful. Please tell me no one saw us on the way back."

"No, the coast was clear. I'm the only one who knows you drool in your sleep."

Hanzo groaned into his palm. "Please stop."

Jesse chuckled softly and Hanzo was hit with the dizzying memory of how that had felt against his stomach. He suddenly felt a wistfulness for something he'd never known, for the feeling of Jesse's arms carrying him, holding him close to his beating heart. Hanzo regretted not being even partially conscious for that. It would have been a nice memory to tuck away and treasure with the rest.

"Big, bad yakuza boss," Jesse said, grinning around the lip of his mug, "snores like a kitten."

Hanzo smacked his hand against the table. "I do not."

"Do too."

"Lies."

"Whatever you say, darlin'."

"Bastard," Hanzo muttered, but he was smiling and so was Jesse. It was a proper smile this time and Hanzo was glad to see it.

"Ready for a second cup?" McCree asked. A peace offering.

"Yes." Hanzo passed him the mug and Jesse sauntered into the kitchen with his usual cowboy swagger, hat or no.

And just like that any awkwardness from the previous night had passed and everything was back to normal.

_5) head over heels_

  1. madly in love.
  2. completely in love with another person.
  3. a term used to describe the feeling of falling in love. 



It had taken Hanzo a long time to get used to Jesse's tendency to use the phrase "fixin' to" in his sentences. It was some southern American way of speaking that they unnecessarily padded their speech with. All it meant was that he was _about_ to go and do something, as in "I'm fixin' to go to the garage." This meant "I'm going to go to the garage shortly." Hanzo finally had a grasp on this. 

He had also gotten used to the baffling expressions involving animals. And boy, were there a lot of them. He knew most of the phrases and their meanings by heart now and even if he didn't he knew Jesse well enough to parse his meaning based on the situation usually. 

He had even gotten used to the abundance of contractions in the man's relaxed speech. Jesse was particularly prolific in dropping the 'g' at the end of almost every word ending in '-ing' and Hanzo had adjusted to this as necessary. He accepted most of the laziness of the dialect with minimal annoyance ( _Most_. Don't get him started on 'ain't'). He'd learned to navigate the double negatives, the strange pronunciations, and the diatribes Hanzo could only describe as 'cowboy ranting.'

What he had not gotten used to yet were the pet names.

Darlin' (there's that dropped 'g' again). Sweetheart. Sugar. Sweetpea. Pumpkin. _Honeybee_. 

Hanzo could not handle them. 

Firstly, it was simply not something he was used to. In Japan nicknames were not uncommon (Genji had always called him _anija_ ), but they were not _these_ sort of nicknames. Sweet nicknames like these were reserved for lovers, not friends, and it was unfathomable that someone would have ever dared to call Hanzo any such thing. It was not in a yakuza heir's upbringing to tolerate anyone calling him anything of the sort. 

Secondly, they did _things_ to Hanzo. And this was a problem. There was something about the casual way that Jesse would say, "thanks, sweetheart" that would send Hanzo's pulse skyrocketing. Or the way he would wish Hanzo good night with a "sweet dreams, darlin'." These terms of endearment, though completely casual to McCree, were less and less so to Hanzo. He couldn't take one more "anytime, sugar" and live. And Heavens forbid if McCree added a _wink_ at the end. Hanzo would be dead on the floor.

It had to stop.

But how to approach the subject? It was nearly a year into their friendship now. How was Hanzo supposed to bring this up all of the sudden? He should have taken care to put a stop to this the very first time it had happened. But he hadn't and here he was, dilemma at hand. 

Hanzo sighed and stared down into his teacup. He had never faced such an arduous predicament before, but then he had never had a friend like Jesse before. Hell, he had never had a friend, _period_. 

The real irony of it all, too, was that Hanzo had come to rely on Jesse for so much that, normally, if he were faced with a problem such as this, Jesse was the very person he would go to for advice. But he couldn't do that when the problem revolved around Jesse himself. 

Speak of the devil—that was a phrase Hanzo had picked up from Jesse, and one he found he quite liked, particularly where the smooth-talking gunslinger was involved—Jesse slid into the seat across from Hanzo.

"You lose somethin' in that cup or is it just real interestin'?" he asked, roguish grin firmly in place.

Hanzo sighed again. "Neither. I was only thinking."

"What about?" Jesse's brow furrowed. "You seem awfully frowny about whatever it is."

Hanzo's gaze flicked to his, but quickly dropped back to his cup. "It is nothing."

Jesse tilted his head. "Don't seem like nothin'. You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

"Of course. It is just…"

Jesse reached out and touched the back of Hanzo's left hand with his right. "Hey, look at me."

Hanzo met Jesse's gaze and didn't look away this time. 

There was _so much_ there in those warm eyes. _So much,_ and Hanzo was overwhelmed by it. He couldn't face Jesse right now. How could he even fathom telling this man to stop doing something that was so quintessentially Jesse McCree? What was wrong with him?

"Han? What's wrong, sugar?"

Oh. That's right. That too-full feeling in Hanzo's chest every time Jesse used one of those sweet words on him. The inability to breathe when he was around the smiling, laughing cowboy. The feeling of free-falling with no one there to catch him every time he looked into Jesse's eyes for too long.

That was what was wrong with him.

Hanzo abruptly stood, shaking his head. "I have to go. I need to...to think. I'm sorry."

"Hanzo?" Jesse stood too, following after him out of the lounge. Hanzo's cup sat forgotten on the table. Several heads swiveled to watch the pair leave.

Hanzo did not put his all into losing Jesse in the corridors. Had he, he would have been gone before Jesse cleared the doorway into the hall. As it was, Hanzo was still within range and Jesse caught up to him with his long-legged stride in a matter of seconds. 

Hanzo couldn't blame Jesse for what happened next. Even after close to a year of friendship the cowboy had no way of knowing what sort of state Hanzo was in. Hanzo didn't even know exactly what sort of state he was in himself. But what it resulted in was this:

When Jesse grasped Hanzo's shoulder, Hanzo reacted at his basest instinctual level. His hand came up and in less than three seconds Jesse had been thrown over Hanzo's shoulder and onto the ground. 

Both men froze for a solid five seconds. 

Hanzo was the first to recover. He released Jesse's wrist and backed away from him. 

"I am sorry. Jesse, I—I'm so sorry. I have to go."

Hanzo _did_ put his all into escaping then and he was gone in the next blink. He did not look back to see what expression Jesse wore.

It was only an hour later that a knock came at Hanzo's door. He had retreated into his room and ignored any pings from his comm. He hadn't drank, which was a small blessing that he hadn't felt compelled to do so. No, he had wanted a clear head to figure out just what the _hell_ had happened earlier. 

Hanzo had freaked out, that was what had happened. 

He didn't know how he was even going to begin to apologize to Jesse properly. He had acted completely out of line and had tossed Jesse like he was an enemy. Jesse was the _farthest_ thing from an enemy and Hanzo hadn't even stopped to check that he was okay. 

He buried his face in his hands for the thousandth time that day and muttered, "I am the worst person."

That had been when the knock came. 

Hanzo looked at his door for a long moment. There were only two people that could possibly be, and if it were his brother, Hanzo thought Genji would be yelling to be let in by now.

That only left the person Hanzo most and least wanted to see at the moment.

Hanzo took a deep breath and stood.

"It is open."

The door slid open and there stood Jesse McCree, hat in hand instead of on his head. He looked like a kicked puppy and Hanzo felt guilt crawl up his throat and settle there.

"Is it all right if I come in?"

"Yes."

In two short strides Jesse was in front of him, a polite distance away. Hanzo found the space between them uncomfortable. He had caused this. With his muddled thoughts and his over-reacting.

A beat passed between them and then Jesse spoke.

"Hanzo, I'm s—"

The archer held up a hand. "Please. Stop. It is I who should be apologizing to you." 

"Han, no, I had no right to pry. And I had absolutely _no_ right to grab you like that, and I—"

Hanzo closed the miniscule, yet gaping distance between them and placed a hand over Jesse's hands clenched around his old, familiar hat, one flesh and one metal under Hanzo's palm.

"Jesse. You had _every_ right to do that. You are my closest friend. You and my brother are the only two people on the planet who have the right to chase after me like you did. I am _glad_ you did, even if I handled it poorly. I...I have been trying to figure something out and it...it has been eluding me and I took it out on you. I am sorry for that. I am sorry that I threw you like that. I didn't even—were you hurt?" Hanzo turned worried eyes up to Jesse's own concerned gaze.

"No, no, Han, I wasn't hurt none. You stunned the hell outta me, sure, but I was all right. I was more worried about you. I ain't ever seen ya like that. What...what's been botherin' you? If I may ask," he tacked on hastily.

Hanzo laughed once. "Of course you may ask. I am...a mess. You knew that already, but it is the only explanation I have for my behavior. I…" Hanzo dropped his hand and took a step back, avoiding Jesse's gaze. "It is silly."

"Tell me anyway."

And just like that Hanzo had permission to just _tell the truth_.

"I have been... _agonizing_...over your...your pet names."

Jesse's expression grew puzzled immediately. "Come again?"

"Your pet names," Hanzo repeated with determination. He owed it to Jesse to tell the truth, even if it was absurd. "The 'terms of endearment' you use on everyone. I know that it is how you talk and I had no problem with it until recently, but here of late I have just been...bothered by them. By the nicknames."

Jesse's face went blank and Hanzo felt his chest seize up. Oh god. He was ruining everything.

"Bothered how?" the gunslinger asked carefully. 

Hanzo was starting to panic. "It's—it's nothing really. I just...sometimes when you say certain things to me I get...I don't know, it knocks me off balance somehow. And I've been trying to figure out how exactly, but I'm—" Hanzo shook his head. "I'm completely at a loss, and normally I would talk to you about it, but I couldn't because it was _about_ you and I didn't want to hurt you, and then I went and _threw you to the ground_ and I just—I am still sorry about that, it was incredibly stupid of me, but I just couldn't handle one more pet name, and I thought that maybe if you just stopped using them, then that would fix everything, but how could I ask you to just cut out that part of you, just because _I_ am feeling—I don't know, I don't know what I'm feeling—"

"Han."

"Everything has been so _confusing_ and I've tried, I really have, but I just—"

" _Hanzo_."

Hanzo stopped, startled by Jesse's raised voice. He looked at the cowboy and saw Jesse running a hand over his face.

"I can't do this anymore."

Hanzo felt his entire world shattering. "Jesse?"

Jesse tossed his hat onto Hanzo's bed and put both hands on his hips. He didn't meet Hanzo's eyes. "Hanzo. I...I need to confess something to you. I have been trying really hard, for months now, to keep everything normal between us, and I screwed up and even tried to confess to you on the catwalk that night you got really wasted and fell asleep, but after you didn't remember, I just let it go and let things go back to normal. But now…"

Jesse looked up. Their eyes met and Hanzo felt everything hinging on what Jesse said next. He could barely breathe. If Jesse ended their friendship, Hanzo didn't know what he would do.

"I've gotta come clean, but it's…" Jesse pinched the bridge of his nose, then covered his eyes with the same hand. His voice came out rough and a little broken. "It's just so hard to think when I'm so head over heels for ya."

Hanzo froze for a second, then absolutely burst. "You—you said you weren't hurt. You _said_." His hand came up to hover near Jesse's temple. "If you are injured, we need to go to Angela. Right now. I—I am sorry, Jesse, I am so sorry, I acted on instinct, and now I've given you _brain damage_ and I, I—" 

Jesse's expression did something incredibly complicated, Hanzo couldn't even identify half of what passed over it. It finally resolved into exasperated confusion and Jesse said, " _What?_ " with such feeling that Hanzo felt as if he had misstepped.

Hanzo hesitated before answering, letting his hand drift down to his side, "I...am sorry...that I threw you and that your head is...are we talking about two different things?"

Jesse had started to shake his head. It quickly switched to nodding when Hanzo posed that question. Jesse covered his face with both hands, " _Jesus_ , Han. Of all the times for us to get lost in translation." He let out a frustrated growl of a sigh and then lowered his hands to look squarely at Hanzo. "Hanzo. 'Head over heels' isn't me referencing you tossing me. It means...it means I'm _in love_ with you, dammit."

Hanzo blinked. Blinked again. "Oh. Then I...I was mistaken. In my interpretation."

Jesse looked as if he were trying not to scream. "Yeah. You were."

"Right," Hanzo said because he really didn't know what else to say. He was still trying to catch up with what was happening. And what was happening was that…that...

Jesse was _in love_ with him. 

"Oh," Hanzo said again. 

"Han, please, I'm _begging_ you, _please_ say something besides 'oh'."

Hanzo looked at Jesse, at his earnest brown eyes and his jaw set in determination to see this through even if it resulted in heartbreak, and Hanzo knew then. He knew exactly what it was that had been bothering him about the pet names. About what his own mind—no, his own _heart_ —had been trying to tell him all this time.

He smiled, a little shaky, but he thought he could be forgiven for that, and said:

"Jesse McCree, I love you more than I thought it was possible to love a person."

Jesse's face broke into relief, then rapidly morphed into pure, unhindered happiness. It was beautiful. It was so utterly beautiful. 

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Yes," Hanzo replied. "I, too, am 'head over heels' for you, if I am saying that right."

"You are. You definitely are. Because you—" Jesse took a step closer. "You love me?"

"With all my heart," Hanzo said honestly. "I did not realize that that was what this feeling was until you so helpfully pointed it out to me, but yes. That is why your pet names were affecting me so much. I was…" Hanzo rolled his eyes at himself. "By the dragons, I was acting like a schoolgirl with a crush."

Jesse chuckled and Hanzo wanted to put his cheek to Jesse's chest and feel the sound again like that drunken night on the catwalk. 

"Is that what that was? Can't say I recall ever hearin' about a schoolgirl tossing her crush over her shoulder like that."

"Please, please stop bringing that up."

"Sure thing, but you gotta do something for me first."

Hanzo peered at him. "And what might that be?"

Jesse took one more step forward and then there was no space between them at all. Hanzo felt Jesse's body heat, smelled his cigarillo and wool and sunshine scent, as intoxicating as it was familiar. 

Jesse smiled and asked, "Let me kiss you?"

Hanzo smirked. "I think that can be arranged."

Jesse leaned down a little. "Yeah?"

Hanzo tilted his face up. "Yes."

When Jesse kissed him, it was as if everything slid neatly into place inside Hanzo's chest, and it felt full, but not overwhelmingly so, for the first time possibly ever. 

The kiss lasted only a handful of seconds, then Jesse pulled back to press his forehead to Hanzo's and just drink in the moment. 

Hanzo said, "I was afraid you were going to end our friendship. The way you were talking, when you started to confess."

"Well, to be fair technically, I did end our friendship. I mean, that is...if...you're wantin' something more?"

Hanzo smiled, a smile with teeth, not a smirk. "Yes. I want nothing more."

Jesse squinted, a playful expression. "Now hang on, you say 'yes,' but that you want 'nothing more,' not _something_ more..?"

Hanzo lightly whapped him on the arm. "Stop that. Do not purposefully misunderstand me. Not now, when we are both finally…" Hanzo made sure he had the expression right in his head before saying it aloud, "on the same page."

Jesse smiled and wrapped his arms around Hanzo's back, pulling the other man's body against his. "Well. S'pose that's settled then. Mind if I kiss you some more?"

"I would be severely disappointed if you didn't."

Jesse chuckled and Hanzo got to feel it in his chest this time. He looped his arms around Jesse's neck to bring the cowboy even closer. Some time passed and eventually they laid down and then it was very simple and no words were needed at all.

_+1) keeper_

  1. someone who you'd likely spend the rest of your life with. 
  2. a person or thing that is valuable and to be cherished.
  3. something (or someone) worth keeping.



Some more time passed.

A few months later they were gathered in the common room, settled in with the rest of the team to watch a movie. Hana had insisted and no one had tried to say no anyway. 

Jesse and Hanzo sat next to each other on a couch, hands intertwined and bodies slotted against each other. 

Genji sat down on Hanzo's other side and made an obligatory disgusted-little-brother face "Don't you two ever get tired of being cute?"

"Nope," Jesse replied immediately. 

Genji rolled his eyes, but smiled too and stole Hanzo's drink for a quick sip before returning it.

"You say that now, cowboy," Genji said, "but will I need to bury your body in a few more months when the two of you have grown tired of each other?"

Genji's casual "shovel-talks" had become commonplace ever since he found out about his brother's relationship with Jesse. 

"Nah," Jesse said, addressing Genji, but his eyes were on Hanzo's. "Ain't gonna happen."

"Oh, no?" Genji asked.

Hanzo held Jesse's gaze.

"Nah," Jesse repeated, softer this time, smile creeping over his face, "he's a keeper."

Hanzo had heard the word 'keeper' before, but not in this context. He thought it to mean someone's watcher or caretaker. That wasn't the right definition here. He could have asked for clarification, but looking into Jesse's eyes he found he didn't need to. For once, he knew exactly what his confusing cowboy meant.

"What about you, _anija?_ Is Fareeha going to have to bury your body?"

"No," Hanzo said and smiled, something small and special just for Jesse, "he is a keeper, too."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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